


You're the Soul one for me

by Beckendorf



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU, DCU (Movies), Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Kryptonian soulmate rituals, M/M, Soul-enemies, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, a new take on soulmates tbh, a rewrite of BVS, and im not over it, bc yES, he's in heaven where all good puppies go, jason is still dead :(, the title might be funny bit this fic sure as hell ain't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckendorf/pseuds/Beckendorf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The existence of soulmates and soul rivals was a continuum in this world. No one questioned it; it was accepted and people moved on.<br/>Most of it was up to fate; some people went 70 years without meeting either person. For others, it was an obsession; something they simply had to track down.<br/>Most left it to fate.<br/>Some chose to ignore it completely.</p><p>The system was simple: One wrist with the first words of your soulmate the other with the first words of your soul rival. You never knew which was which; and sympathies to the person who had the same phrase on both. </p><p>(basically a BVS rewrite with soulmate AU) (based of a tumblr post)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the Soul one for me

**Author's Note:**

> So! this is my first ever completed SuperBat fic and I don't really think I got their characterisation right due to me being more used to writing and reading Comic Book Bruce so I apologise if they both seem out of character.  
> Also I really enjoyed BVS because I'm shipper trash and the Martha bit just made me so happy and I emulated that in this.  
> It's fast paced, kind of like the movie, and yeah the soulmate rules...I haven't really worked them out yet...just bear with me? Thank you! 
> 
> Here is the tumblr post this is based off: http://tonystarkening.tumblr.com/post/141831322843/chekhovsgum-cindymoon-im-so-tired-of-the-au

 

_Gotham, 1981_

Bruce Wayne is 8 years old when he feels a searing pain on his wrists, signifying the arrival of his soulmark. It slowly etches into his skin, looping letters over his wrist. All soulmarks have a standard font. No one can quantify it, and no one can replicate it-that's what Alfred had told him. "Just another one of life's great mysteries, Master Bruce".

He feels giddy with excitement. His parents' happiness and sheer affection for one another (and their son) is almost unrivalled. It's everything he ever wants from his own life. 

He looks down to see both wrists tattooed with the same phrase; it wasn't anything special, just "Mr.Wayne", yet he feels anxious and exhilarated all the same. Alfred tells him his parents should know first.  He doesn’t know what it means yet, but he's almost bouncing with anticipation to show them. 

They are shot dead that same night.

Bruce doesn’t think of his wrists again.

 

\--

_Smallville, 1994_

Ever since Clark can remember his Ma would insist on bandaging his wrists, claiming illness and prevention. She tells him they’re scars from when he was a little boy, yet he never remembers any incident dire enough to warrant this tenuous treatment. It’s not like his wrists hurt or anything. It's not like any injury of his really hurts, not for long. 

He’s 10 years old when the powers start to come in. He has too many questions, and his parents can only give half satisfactory answers.

The alien ship is just another indication of how out of this world he really was. How much he didn’t belong.

Jonathan Kent looks at him sadly with a swift glance towards his bandaged wrists. To Clark, this discovery was just something else the kids at school could hold against him; more so than they already did. 

Broken Clark with his weird mannerisms and his lack of soulmate. It would make sense then that he didn’t have a soulmark.

His wrists were always covered anyway. It wasn't like his skin would magically give him the answers. It was meant to be a searing pain, coming into late childhood. On Earth, the standard age was 8 years. Clark had passed his 8th birthday without any such incidence. 

And yet, he was curious.

In the confines of his bedroom he begins slowly peeling them off, holding his breath to see these so called scars.

Instead there are two lines of fine script in a language he doesn’t understand; a language he’s sure doesn’t even exist on earth. Most likely leading to a person who doesn’t exist anymore either.

He cries himself to sleep that night, and many others that follow, dreaming of faraway worlds, dreaming of being accepted. 

 

-

_Metropolis, Present day_

As Bruce pulls up outside Lex Luthor’s ugly house, he internally cringes at the sight of buzzing paparazzi and reporters waiting to pounce and snatch.

He exits the car gracefully, giving them a formal nod whilst ignoring their questions before heading towards the building. He’s internally relieved he didn’t have to speak to any of them. After all, he had a mission.

 

He’s sure he’s escaped when a voice stops him in his tracks. Wonderful.

 

“Mr Wayne.”

 

He turns, flashing his most charming grin with subtle undertones of “I want to fucking kill you”. In front of him is a fairly attractive and dorky looking reporter, with clearly no idea what proper party attire is judging by the simply appalling choice of suit. However the sheer determination on his face is enough to bypass all other imperfections. He didn’t seem one who was going to be easily wavered; if you weren’t Bruce Wayne that is.

 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”

 

“Mr Kent.” Bruce greets, about to lift his hand for a handshake when something akin to an lightning bolt sears through his arm. He grunts in surprise, grabbing his arm. He almost forgets about the reporter in front of him.

The reporter who’s just dropped his notepad, and is cradling his own arm to his chest. Clark was almost breathless in shock. He’d never felt a pain so sharp before; and there was no human taser capable of doing that to him. Unless someone had access to kryptonite-but no, he would have sensed it.

They looked at each other, realising that what had passed had only happened to _them_. Thankfully no one around them had noticed anything unusual, so they were able to appreciate what this moment meant alone.

 

Bruce hadn’t thought about those marks on his wrist since he was 8 years old, not interested in finding out the true meaning behind them. He knew his soulmate would be his sworn enemy; it wasn’t an event he wanted to test.

Likewise Clark had never bothered to get his own translated; too sure that his mate and rival had been killed during the destruction of his planet. Jor-El had never mentioned anything on Kryptonian soul rituals either.

 

But here it was laid out in front of them. They were each other’s best friends and worst enemies.

Neither knew what to do with this information so it was almost a godsend when Lex Luthor interrupted their uncomfortable and shocked silence, rambling on about something or the other.

Bruce slipped back first, being pleasant and amicable.

Clark was slower on the uptake, but played it convincing. One could've said he was merely excited to meet with celebrities.

"I just love bringing people together!" Lex proclaimed happily, like a child who's just received a new set of toys. In some senses, that phrase was quite accurate. 

"You have no idea" Bruce calmly replied, using the sudden buzzed excitement that followed the young eccentric to quietly slip away as Lex (thankfully) engaged in an interview with Clark instead.

He cursed himself for the distraction. There was still a mission to be completed. Justice first, soulmate later. Or never. He didn't want to think about it.

"Alfred, you there?"

"Yes Master Wayne, am I to presume you had been taking a nap in the past half an hour or so you've been there?"

Bruce rolled his eyes. Time to get on with the mission.

\--

Clark stepped out of the glass building and looked down at his wrists, bandages peaking up from underneath his sleeves. Whilst he could pass them off as being strange tattoos, people knew what soulmarks looked like. And more importantly, some people may well know what _Superman's_ soul mark looked like. He couldn't take the risk.

He put his reporter training into action and listed the facts; Bruce Wayne was his soul mate and rival, he wants nothing to do with him, clearly the great pairing of the universe is some kind of intergalactic force and he really wishes he’d asked Jor-El when he’d had the chance.

He couldn't imagine why he's ever have to fight Bruce. How did the universe know this was going to be his sworn enemy? Surely there were bigger forces of hatred concerning him?

Well currently it seemed the whole world hated him. He wasn’t sure who’s enemy Bruce was going to end up as; Clark Kent’s or Superman’s. Did the force of the universe know he was going to be leading a double life?

He didn’t get a chance to think of any more existential questions as the voice of Bruce Wayne entered his ears again.

_“Where is it Alfred?”_

_“...go down stairs, that’s the kitchen staff to your right and the database to your left…”_

Clark frowned, attempting to follow the conversation.

Sadly Jimmy caught him being useless and forced him into the main hall for some “scoops”.

This whole Bruce Wayne thing would have to be dealt with later.

\--

 

His foot was pressing against Clark’s throat, the kryptonite spear mere inches from his neck. _So this is what it’s like to feel human_ he thinks, struggling to breathe. What a romantic way to die, killed finally feeling like the race he tried to protect, by one of the people from the race he tried to protect. Truly the death of a hero.

“B-ruce..p-lease..we’re...ugh...soul...mates..” He manages to struggle out, feeling more and more like his neck was about to burst. His powers were coming back, but no way near fast enough for him to stop the man in front of him.

The man towering over him didn’t stop, instead using the edge of the spear to cut across Clark’s face. “We are sworn enemies. You don’t deserve to continue existing.” The voice modulation isn’t working as efficiently as Bruce’s human voice starts to mix into the blur.

Bruce looks down at the helpless man underneath him. Everything’s in place for the final act. He was ready to strike the Man of Steel down for good.

And yet he was hesitating. There was a force within him telling him he was wrong, that this wasn’t what he needed to do. Inherently the man in front of him was not a threat. Not intentionally.

But Bruce Wayne was never one to be sentimental, and so he raises the spear, ready to strike this alien once and for all. 

“Mar..tha-”

He freezes. “What did you say?”

“S..ave...Martha-”

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT NAME?” Was this some Kryptonian soul bond thing? Could Superman see into his past? 

No that was impossible. The alien must be taunting him. Taunting his human weakness. 

He would make sure to correct that.

The spear was raised again, electric green blinding the corners of his eyes as Superman's neck was bared in front of him, asking to be slit. 

"P-lease, M-artha-"

Bruce's arm falters again. “I SAID, WHERE DID YOU GET THAT NAME-”

“M..a…” Superman wheezes, in weak response. “S...ave..my...ma…” the pain coursing through his body is too much to bear; his powers weakening as the kryptonite stays close to his skin, sapping him of every strength he once carried. He was no Man of Steel anymore. He prepares himself for the inevitable, sending an apology to his mother in his head, hoping lex luthor would be kind enough to spare her. Or Batman would have the heart to save her. He's ready for the final blow, counting the down the seconds in his head until...

Nothing. Clark opens his eyes, looking to the man above him. 

Bruce lowers his foot, allowing Superman to breathe.

“Lex...kidnapped my ma...told me he’d kill her...if I didn’t bring him your head.” He manages weakly, coughing as he attempts to get his lungs back. “Please Bruce, help me.” He looks up earnestly, every emotion displayed on his face. "I-we have to stop him before more people are killed." 

Bruce grips the spear tightly for a second as Clark flinches. He searches the man's face, as if looking for a telltale sign of Alien deception. His search concluded nothing but honest, and it was like a light had been switched on inside Bruce’s brain. How could he really have thought this man was a threat without contradicting himself?

At the end of the day, they are both fighting for the same thing. They both exist to bring about the balance between good and evil in the world. Superman has no responsibility to save them, yet here he stands everyday thinking about the billions who live on Earth, protecting them with the amazing gifts he had. Batman included. 

Bruce drops the spear. “Your Mother will not be killed tonight.” He says, shedding his exo-skeleton as Superman recharges in a stray beam of dawn sun. 

“Thank you Bruce. I hope..I hope we can look past this.” Clark replies, standing up and outstretching his hand.

Bruce eyes it suspiciously, before presenting his own gloved fist. They shake, and that volt of electricity sears through their bodies, their connected limbs starting to ache. Clark lets go first, pushing back his suit.

He rubs his wrist, where the lines of kryptonian suddenly start to morph. “My soul mark...it changed.” He exclaims, studying the lines carefully. 

Bruce sneaks a peak at his own wrist too. He winces as he sees the stylised phrase on his wrist. He knew _exactly_ whose words those were. They certainly weren't of the mating variety. 

“Mine too.” He quietly agrees, strapping up. 

“Guess we’re not enemies anymore.” Superman says, sounding entirely too hopeful considering Bruce had been ready to slit his throat 30 seconds prior. His face suddenly turns serious “She’s running out of time. I’ll go to Luthor, will you be able to find her?’

“Alfred’s already on it. I’ll meet you there.” Bruce replies, calling the jet.

Superman nods, getting ready to take off into the sky. “Thank you, Batman.” He says, fixing Bruce with a stare that would make his knees wobble if he wasn't currently in a tight kevlar/spandex suit. Bruce nods and watches the other man as he thunders into the sky.

Bruce catches himself smiling after him. “Anytime, Superman."

\--

Soulmates and Soul rivals work in mysterious ways, and the intergalactic soul-pairing universal force was clearly a dick.

Because one second you could be ready to tear out each other’s eyes, and the next you’ll find yourself drowning in whiskey because your soul mate/ex-soul rival is dead. And you didn't do a damned thing to stop it.

Bruce was halfway through his third Kentucky Sour Mash Scotch bottle (he wasn't entirely sure what it was he was drinking anymore, he just knew it burned and tasted decent). He was mourning someone he barely knew. Yet it felt _awful_. Like a part of his soul had been ripped out, like his whole world had been blown to bits. Like the night he watched his parents die. Like the night he watched his son die too. 

“Master Wayne-”

“Not now Alfred.”

“You may want to listen just this once.” The butler insisted, being careful to balance his tone. 

“I said not now Alfred!” Bruce was fighting to keep calm. Alfred didn't deserve to be treated this way. Alfred deserved better. He was probably next on the 'friends of Wayne hit-list'.

"I couldn't save him Alfred...I couldn't save him just like I couldn't save J-Jason. Every day I'm failing someone new. Who needs the Batman, when Superman could save the whole world in the blink of an eye?" 

"I think you're being entirely too harsh on yourself Master Bruce, and you and I will have some words about the Batman's real position in this world. But for now we're running out of time." 

Bruce snorts, "For what? Time isn't important to me now Alfred. I just don't want to fail anyone else." 

The butler sighs.  “Very well sir, just that I’ve been looking through Lex Luthor’s files on Kryptonian soul bonds, and it seems one of their functionalities is resurrection. But I’ll leave you as you were."  Alfred left the room as Bruce continued to drown his liver. It was a good 2 or 3 minutes before the message sunk in.

“Wait what was that about resurrection?”

\--

Martha Kent wasn’t sure what to do with herself as she paced the empty house, looking through the pictures of times gone by. First her husband, now her son. It seemed the world didn’t want to stop taking from her.

She was still in shock. He was meant to be _invincible_ , she thought he would be the one to outlive them all. Now she was left with nothing but an empty house. 

She was a strong lady, she knew she'd be able to get by just fine. Yet this time she wasn’t sure how far she’d move on. How far she  _could_. 

Not only a wonderful hero, but an entire race now gone.

She sighed to herself as she found herself back in Clark's old bedroom. She resorted to sitting on his childhood bed, poring through family photo albums, letting her tears fall free over her aged face. 

Her reminiscence was crudely interrupted by the sound of- _jet engines?_

The first emotion through her was panic, remembering the lovely visit General Zod had paid her two years ago. A million possibilities flashed through her mind. The military, Lex Luthor, perhaps even Clark’s distant relations. 

There was no Clark to save her this time. 

She took the handgun out from its hidden spot under the sink and readied herself behind the screen of the doors.

There were two voices, too low and quiet to make out. The doorbell rang, and Martha kept the gun hidden behind her back as she went to answer it.

“Hello Ma’am I’m Bru-”

“I know who you are.” She replied, tightening her hold on the gun. “What do you want?”

“I’m...I’m a friend of your sons.” He said, hoping she’d catch onto who he really was. Her eyes widened a little, but nonetheless remained menacing.

“Then I’ll ask again, what do you want?”

“I can save your son.”

The gun dropped to the floor behind her. “What...what are you saying?” She said, a tear escaping her eye.

“I can bring Clark back.” He said, firmer this time. “There’s a Kryptonian...condition that states that soulmates can bring each other back. We don’t think this works between humans but it might just work for me and Clark. I’m...I’m his-”

“I know.” She said, tears falling strongly now as she smiled. “Would you do it? Would you bring him back?”

Bruce nodded, finding that he too had something in his eye.

“Will it work?” She asked, quieter this time.

“With all due respect Madam we cannot be fully sure as this is a culture very different from ours, however we do know that we only have a 48 hour timeframe after the time of death, so I suggest we get a move on.” The second man-Bruce Wayne's butler most likely-cuts in.

She nods, wiping her eyes, and gesturing for the two men to follow her.

Martha takes them to the Graveyard, both Alfred and Bruce armed with lights and various other materials. Clark’s grave still hadn’t been fully dug yet, and Bruce felt a morose anxiety build up inside him.

The bizarreness of this whole situation kept returning into his mind; here was a man he barely knew, one he was ready to kill. And yet Bruce felt like his whole world was torn apart, like they’d known each other since birth. Like he’d loved him his whole life. It was a sudden barrage of emotions Bruce wasn't sure he was ready to deal with yet.

Must be a Kryptonian thing.

He jumped into the hole, mud coating his expensive suit. He could feel Alfred’s disapproval.

Martha held the light above him so he could see what he was doing. _This better fucking work…_ he thought to himself, as he began to open the casket.

Clark looked beautifully serene in the confines of the wooden case. Bruce had to take a moment to take it all in.

“Master Wayne, pardon my intrusion but there will be plenty of time to ogle Master Kent _after_ you have brought him back to life.” Bruce feels his cheek flush, but nonetheless readies himself for the process.

“Alright Alfred, I’m ready.”

“Place your forefingers on his temples.”

Bruce did as he was told. "Next Alfred."

“I'm afraid that’s all it says sir. The suggestion is to channel your emotion for the other person through your body."

“...Right…” Bruce exhaled helplessly. He looked up to Martha Kent. She shook her head, turning away from the grave yard. She couldn't bear to look at her dead son any longer. 

 

"Clark...I may not have known you very long, and I may not have even liked you for a good majority of that time, but it doesn't take the world's greatest detective to see that you're a good man, an honourable man. Quite possibly one of the best men mankind has ever had the good fortune to be graced with. I know we...we got off on the wrong foot. I was wrong about you. We all were. The world needs you Superman, I-I need you. If...if you are coming back, I look forward to spending a whole lifetime getting to know you, that..that I can guarantee. I promise, for as long as I live, that I will never fail you again." There are tears streaming down his face now as he thinks about his parents smiling to each other over the dining table, of young laughter echoing through the corridors, of nights spent on the couch with his son by his side. He imagines the possibility of hope, of trust, all brought by this ridiculously amazing man in front of him. 

His arms feel like lead as jolts of electricity run through them. He might be shouting...he feels like his throat is hoarse. It doesn't matter, he just wants  _needs_ Clark to come back. 

The energy in Bruce's arms begins to subside. Clark stays still as a rock. He looks up to see Martha Kent bent double, face cradled in her hands. 

She's shaking her head. Some things truly were too good to be true. She should have learned that the first time around. 

But Bruce is not wavered so easily. 

“Come on Clark! Come on.” He yells, pressing his fingertips further into Clark’s temples, _come come on Superman_ he shouted in his head. _You have to wake up. For all of us. For the good of Mankind. You **have** to… _

 

\--

_Gotham, the Near Future._

 

“So wait, you _brought Superman back from the dead_?!”

“Yes Tim, that’s literally what I just said.” Bruce replied, smiling at his son. “And I haven’t regretted it a day since.” He added, looking at the man next to him. The man he nearly killed all those years ago. Clark smiled back, giving Bruce a sloppy kiss, at the disgust of their mini-audience.

Damian frowned. “But you hated one another, you were sworn enemies?”

“Yes we were, but soul bonds are stronger than that. Sometimes we are paired with our enemies to teach us to resolve our struggles.” Clark said calmly, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Be grateful, you all wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t fought all those years ago. And with that, it’s time you all went to sleep.” Bruce concluded, at the dismay of his family. Tim and Damian protested; when Dick said “Hey I bet Alfred will give us all milk and cookies!” At that condition the boys ran in the general direction of the kitchen, with Bruce shooting Dick a grateful smile. Clark felt bad for the old butler.

“Thank you, again, for bringing me back” He said, intertwining his hands with Bruce.

Bruce swallowed. “Clark it’s been over 10 years, you don’t need to thank me anymore.”

“I know I don’t.” he replied, shooting the old Bat one of his signature smiles. “So, what do you say to a little quality time, _soulmate_?” Clark said, raising his eyebrows.

“Not a bad idea at all.” He replied, “Soulmate.”

\--

 


End file.
